Operation: Breakdown
by daughter-of-Myou
Summary: With Breakdown captured by MECH, Knock Out must temporarily work together with Team Prime to rescue him. Along the way, he reminisces on how he met his partner - but working with Autobots affects him in more ways than one. Rated 'T' for mild robotic gore. FINISHED
1. Ambush

"What're we doing way out here again, Knock Out?"

A red-and-white Aston Martin and a navy-blue armoured van drove side by side down a narrow, unmarked road; their tyres kicking up dust and dirt that had blown onto the tarmac from the dried-up scrubland on all sides.

"I already told you, Breakdown," drawled the sports car, over the fiery growl of his engine. The sky above was a cloudless stretch of pure cobalt – the desert sun caught his polished chassis spectacularly, its glare almost blinding his partner. "Now that _Lord_ Megatron is back on his feet, there's not too much for us to do back at home base. I thought that we could cut loose for a while; have some fun."

"…You mean 'have a race'," Breakdown translated, reading his partner like a text document.

"Well I'm not allowed to race humans anymore, am I?" sniffed Knock Out. He took a shuddery breath, as though reliving a memory he'd much rather forget. "I'm still buffing out the scars from last time…"

They followed the road without speaking for a while, the only sounds those of their tyres on the cracked tarmac and the continual rumbling of their engines. The scenery became even more desolate as the vegetation receded and mounds of dirt and rock began to rise up in its place. There were no signs of civilisation anywhere, human or otherwise. Breakdown suddenly understood why Knock Out had brought him here; the road had levelled and straightened out, and there were no annoying pedestrians to get in their way. This place was almost perfect for a good race, and the scrubland didn't look too bad for off-roading either – but Knock Out wasn't fond of that. He'd rather lick Starscream's skidplates than risk scratching his paintjob on the uneven terrain.

"Hey, Breakdown…" Knock Out began abruptly. His voice sounded cautious somehow, almost apprehensive. "Can you hear something?"

Surprised, Breakdown strained his audio receptors to listen. Over the sound of their engines, he picked up the unmistakable whirr of a human-made machine in flight. Adjusting their rear-views, the Decepticons scanned the skies – and all of a sudden, with a rush of wind that blasted sand in all directions, a blocky-looking helicopter rose over the mound of earth and rock to their left. It was painted army green, windshield blacked-out. As it strafed low above the road, following them, Knock Out found his attention drawn to its underbelly – where a not-so-civilian-looking turret was mounted.

"Enemy Seeker?" Breakdown growled.

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Knock Out. "Autobots can't fly – but…I'm not picking up a 'Con energy signature, either. Odd…must be a glitch in my scanners."

Automatically, Breakdown returned his gaze to the road – and gasped. A row of lime-green muscle cars were parked across the tarmac ahead, bumper to bumper, barring their path. "Roadblock!" he shouted, slamming on his brakes. Knock Out similarly screeched to a halt, fuming, as the helicopter began to lazily circle overhead like a vulture above a carcass.

"Oh, _please_," Knock Out grumbled, as several humans clambered quickly out of the cars. They were identically dressed in bizarre full-body suits, each carrying a strange rifle of some sort. He watched them prop their weapons – quite advanced-looking for humans in terms of technology – against the car doors, thoroughly irritated. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Breakdown ignored the humans, and watched the helicopter instead. As it circled, he noticed that the turret was rotating in place – tracking their position. If that wasn't a battle invitation, he didn't know what was. "Fight?" he asked, glancing at his partner.

"What are we – Autobots?" sneered the medic. Without warning, Knock Out cut his engine and flipped upright into robot mode – slipping rapidly between forms to tower over the humans and their petty vehicles. The humans faltered, staring up at the giant Decepticon with mouths agape behind their masks. Breakdown followed his partner's lead and transformed, grinning the instant his faceplates emerged from the depths of his chassis. "Crush them!"

Breakdown charged – he ran straight for the blockade, drawing back one servo as the humans scattered. He punched the closest car clean off the road as though it weighed nothing, not pausing to watch it spiral away through the air as he seized a second with both hands. The humans ran in all directions as he lifted the car high above their heads – slamming it down onto the tarmac with force enough to leave a shallow crater in the road.

Knock Out made to join the fray, but paused as the helicopter began to rise further into the sky above the two Decepticons. He peered through the blackened windshield, optics just able to perceive the angular contours of a male human face behind the glass. The face was marked with a single scar that ran across the bridge of its nose, jaw in motion as though speaking. Suspiciously, the medic adjusted his scanners and detected the faint signature of an unknown radio frequency.

"Gentlemen," said a smooth voice, slightly garbled by the quality of human audio-transmission systems. "Begin the operation."

Breakdown glanced across at his immobile partner after totalling a fifth bright-green car, wondering why he wasn't helping cause some damage, but something caught his attention in the corner of his optic. Two of the humans who had fled their vehicles earlier were wielding some sort of cannon between them, aiming it directly at the oblivious Knock Out. Breakdown panicked as a third human began jabbing buttons at the cannon's rear – forcing life into his servos as the weapon's barrel started to spark and crackle with electricity.

"Look out!" he shouted, ramming Knock Out hard in the back.

Thrown off his feet, the medic crashed to the ground several metres away – stunned for a nanoklik as he tried to work out what had happened – but rolled onto his back as he heard his partner suddenly bellow in pain somewhere behind him. It looked like he was having some kind of seizure; Breakdown's servos were shaking violently, his head twisted unnaturally to one side, but he didn't seem to be able to move from where he stood. Knock Out spotted something small and metallic embedded in his partner's shoulder, sparking and shorting like circuitry that had been ravaged by a swarm of scraplets. Breakdown began to stagger all of a sudden, unsteady on his feet, and let out a dull groan before collapsing flat on his front with a crash that shook the ground like thunder.

Knock Out stared at his fallen partner for what felt like an eternity, too surprised to move. It was only when the humans approached Breakdown's body, carrying reams of what looked like chains, that he managed to force himself upright. Knock Out roared as he sprinted to defend his partner, unsheathing his energon prod – but never got the chance to use it. Flecks of hot pain suddenly peppered his back and shoulders, as the helicopter's turret opened fire without warning. Attempting unsuccessfully to swipe away the oncoming bullets, he abandoned the charge and shielded his head; snarling as droplets of his still-warm energon speckled the tarmac like rain. Out of the corner of his optic, like a scene from a nightmare, he saw a small convoy of green trucks pull up at the side of the road, pulling between them a flat trailer long enough to comfortably lay a Transformer flat. The helicopter blocked his view of it a moment later, still unleashing a flurry of gunfire into his chassis, preventing him from approaching.

"I wouldn't want to seriously harm as fine a piece of technology as yourself," stated the same silky human voice as before. Knock Out cracked open an optic as the stream of bullets abruptly ceased. The turret was aimed directly toward his head; an open threat. In spite of it, however, he found his attention diverted as the sound of the trucks' rhythmic engines met his audio receptors. The humans had loaded Breakdown's unconscious body onto the trailer and fastened him down, covering most of his chassis with a huge sheet of opaque material. The medic growled and returned his glare to the helicopter, through the windshield of which he saw the scarred human flash a smug grin. "If you want your friend back, I suggest you have a chat with one _agent Fowler_. Tell him that Silas would be delighted to negotiate your friend's release."

The trucks pulled away, hauling Breakdown with them, but the helicopter continued to circle the medic; allowing his soldiers time to climb into the remaining cars and depart. Knock Out saw the human named Silas give him one final smug look through the windshield, before the helicopter pulled away to follow the convoy.

Knock Out stood there for a second, not even attempting to stem the flow of energon from the tiny holes that riddled his exostructure. His wounds were superficial – not life-threatening in the slightest – but they stung like the Pit. Pain aside, he couldn't rid the image of Breakdown's body from his processor; the sight of that blunt hand just poking out from beneath the sheet. Reaching.

He started after the convoy in a short sprint, diving into vehicle mode to begin pursuit. Gunning his snarling engine, Knock Out raced after convoy – after his partner. He caught up to the formation of green vehicles in no time, tailgating them on the desert road, and slid open the weapons compartments above his rear wheels. With a single shot, he took out one tyre of the car in front – sending it veering to the side and granting him a path further up through the convoy. Knock Out advanced, already aiming his next shot for one of the chains securing Breakdown – but never got the chance to take it.

"Persistent, isn't he?" Silas' voice sneered over the radio. "Disable him."

Two humans emerged from the sliding roof of the car in front, wielding between them another of those strange weapons from before. Knock Out slammed on his brakes, tyres squealing, but too late – with the sound of a cannon-blast, he felt something sharp embed itself into the front of his bumper. An electric current like nothing he had felt before suddenly ripped through his circuits, jamming every system in his body. Wheels locking in place, Knock Out found himself forced into robot mode – he crashed against the tarmac and bounced heavily away, senses reeling, momentum carrying him for several metres before he finally scraped to a halt in the dirt.

Knock Out lay there at the side of the road, unable to move as a steady fire pulsed through his circuits, the numbness impeding his ability to think. Vision wavering, he watched the convoy disappear into the shimmering horizon – before his consciousness slipped.


	2. Disorientation

"_Ah, scrap! M-medic! I need a medic-!"_

_Knock Out sprinted under the storm of enemy fire, diving for cover behind the wreckage of a fallen communications tower. He pressed his back to the rubble, panicking. Scrap, he thought; snipers. He spotted three of them stationed on a raised platform to the north – and who knew how many more were lurking out of sight? Summoning his courage, he waited for a break in the gunfire before diving into vehicle mode and tearing across the ravaged battlefield. Swerving around oncoming shots, he pinpointed the injured yell to the bottom of a steep ravine where a weapons warehouse had collapsed in an explosion. He flipped back into robot mode and vaulted into the chasm, skidding down to its base and drawing his energon pistol._

_The chasm was shielded from enemy fire, but hardly 'safe'. Several magnetic mines lurked amidst the rubble, some twisted into the lifeless shells of fellow Decepticon soldiers. Out of medical habit, Knock Out inspected their broken bodies – but faltered as his optics fell upon a still-functional Decepticon. The soldier, not a Seeker judging by his bulk, was tightly clutching an open wound on his shoulder. He was lying in a pool of energon and shrapnel several metres away, staring straight back at the medic with wide yellow optics. His faceplates, red beneath the charring, were pinched in something close to desperation._

_Staggering as the ground shook with the force of a nearby explosion, Knock Out ran to the soldier and cast his pistol aside. He'd never cared much for firearms – even in the frenzy of war. He dropped to his knees beside the stranger, examining the damage to his dark blue chassis, as shards of debris rained down into the chasm. With a start, he noticed the servo that should have been attached to the warrior's wounded shoulder lying in pieces across the ravine._

"_What's your name, soldier?" Knock Out asked, rearranging the panels of his own arm to access his medical tools. He prised the stranger's remaining hand away from the twisted stump of sheared actuators, all that was left of his arm, and set about trying to stem the flow of energon._

"_Breakdown, sir…" the stranger growled. Knock Out winced, not used to being referred to as a superior, but said nothing as a second detonation rocked the ground. The soldier, twice Knock Out's mass even with a servo missing, attempted to sit up – but the medic pushed him down at once._

"_Lie still, you fool!" he hissed. The burly soldier named Breakdown shuddered as Knock Out gave him a quick numbing-injection, and fell stubbornly silent. "I'll patch you up as best I can, but there's only so much field repairs can do. Name's Knock Out, by the way – nice to meet another 'Con who prefers wheels to wings, for a change."_

_Breakdown grinned stupidly, perhaps as a result of the injection, but the arrival of a live grenade in the ravine prevented the medic from returning the gesture. Both Decepticons stared in shock as it rolled to a halt beside them, their mouths agape, before Knock Out suddenly realised what it was and scrambled to his feet. Knowing Breakdown was too heavily damaged to run for cover, he seized the grenade and made to throw it as far as he could – but never got the chance. It detonated in his hand, tearing through his palm and fingers like a solar storm._

Knock Out awoke with a start, frenzied and disorientated, sitting bolt upright in shock. A rolling sea of dizziness crashed over him and he swayed, instantly regretting the sudden movement, gripping the sides of his aching head as though fearing it might detach if he didn't hold it still. He succumbed to gravity, and allowed himself to fall back against the examination table.

Examination table? he thought thickly. Lightheaded and woozy, he gawped at the unfamiliar room surrounding him. He could see medical equipment stationed on shelves and benches all around, components both human and Cybertronian. Propping himself into a sitting position, he gingerly performed a self-diagnostic. Physically, Knock Out deduced himself to be in operational condition – but there was something decidedly _off_ about his systems. It felt like he was recovering from a bad bout of cybonic plague – his equilibrium was scrambled, throwing off his balance, and his internals felt strangely raw, aching with every movement.

Processor spinning, he eased himself over the edge of the table and attempted to stand. His knees buckled at once; he had to seize a nearby medical trolley for support, accidentally scattering the apparatus on its surface. The staccato of sound as the equipment clattered to the floor stabbed mercilessly at his audio receptors, prompting another wave of nausea that threatened to purge his tanks.

"Easy, now," said a voice, nervous but firm, from somewhere nearby. "Just take it nice and easy. You're hurt."

After cracking open his optics, it took Knock Out a nanoklik to realise who he was staring at. He threw himself back in surprise, away from the Autobot medic, colliding with the examination table in his haste. Ratchet threw up his hands to show that he was unarmed as the Decepticon reached for his energon prod – but had already taken precautions. Knock Out found that his weapon was missing from its usual spot, and soon spotted it lying on a table across the sickbay. Panic flared in his throat as another Autobot hurried in through the entrance; the fire truck, of all 'bots. The Autobot commander stopped dead in the doorway, hesitating; surprised by the sight of the weakened Decepticon supporting himself on the examination table.

"Where am I?" Knock Out demanded, the sound of his own voice making his head spin. "What…what did you do to me?"

"It's alright – just relax," Ratchet pressed, an urgent edge to his voice. Knock Out tensed as Optimus made to approach them, but the amber-and-white medic threw out a servo to warn his superior away. "We're not going to hurt you. Our sensors picked up some Decepticon activity in the desert a few megacycles ago. That's where we found you – offline in the middle of the road and leaking energon like no tomorrow. We brought you back here for repairs."

Knock Out tried to give a sarcastic laugh, but all that escaped his vocal processor was a strained rasping sound. "Why would _you_ want to help _me?_" he managed, trying and failing to support his own weight. Ratchet reached for him, making to guide him back onto the table, but the Decepticon swiped him weakly away. The movement unsettled his grip of the table and he slipped, falling to his knees with a surprised groan as his strength wavered. Something was definitely wrong; his basic commands weren't functioning as they should.

"Knock Out," Optimus began, coolly crossing the room to come to a steady halt before the damaged Decepticon. "We want to help you…because your injuries were caused by human hands."

Knock Out raised his optics from the floor with difficulty and leaned away as Optimus lowered himself to one knee, his processor tingling as the Autobot commander knelt before him. Human hands…? "That's right…" he remembered hazily. He stared from one Autobot to the other in turn, feeling strangely faint. Ratchet followed Optimus' lead in kneeling beside their 'guest', an intrigued expression on his faceplates as he studied those dazed crimson optics. "We were ambushed by a pack of humans in green cars…"

"Green cars?" Optimus repeated, suspicious, but Knock Out wasn't listening. The Decepticon's mind was replaying the scene in the desert; the blockade, the helicopter, the cannon that had rendered his partner unconscious. He saw Breakdown fall as if in slow motion, crash to the ground, offline.

"Breakdown…" he muttered, vocals uncomfortably tight. The Autobot medic extended a servo, reaching for something on his chassis, but Knock Out paid him no heed. "They took Breakdown! I – I have to go after-!"

He felt a sudden stinging pain in his shoulder; one that made him break off mid-sentence with a hiss. Ratchet withdrew his hand, perplexed as he examined his find. It looked like some kind of bullet, small and silver, one side terminating in three sharp prongs that were stained with still-warm energon. Massaging his shoulder as he ran an optic over the device, the Decepticon was relieved to feel the dizziness lifting from his systems.

"Fascinating," Ratchet mumbled, inspecting the tiny gadget that was pinched between his fingertips. "It looks almost _human_ in design…and it seems to be emitting a faint electromagnetic pulse, like some sort of jamming signal. I'll need to conduct a thorough examination first, though, before I can be certain of anything."

The commander turned his head to gaze down at Knock Out, who was irritably inspecting his ruined paintjob now that he had regained a grip of his senses. "How did this happen to you?" Optimus asked.

"Breakdown and I were out for a drive," the Decepticon replied stiffly, tracing the bullet-holes. "Those skinjobs jumped us on the road…shot Breakdown with one of those _things_. Then they loaded him onto a truck and took off. I tried to follow, but I suppose they managed to shoot me too. Lucky for them…I would have torn that Silas to pieces if I'd had the chance."

"Silas?" repeated Optimus. Knock Out nodded his suddenly-clear head, and pushed himself up off the floor. His systems were stable, the nausea all but imaginary now – as though it had left his body with the alien device.

"That's right," he sniffed. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

Knock Out made to leave – but found his wrist abruptly encased in Optimus' grip. He froze, caught off-guard, unable to pull free. His captive's hold was like an iron vice. He stared questioningly into those crystal-blue optics, but received no explanation.

"Ratchet," began the commander, authority ringing in his tone. "Please contact the others at once and have them return from the perimeter, Bridging them back if necessary. I fear that time is against us."

Ratchet raised an eyebrow. "For what purpose?" he asked.

"It would appear that MECH has finally re-emerged from the shadows," Optimus replied darkly, finally lessening his grip of the Decepticon. Knock Out massaged his wrist, feeling as though he was no longer a part of the conversation. "Breakdown is a Cybertronian, like us. If they study him, they may learn our secrets as well. We cannot allow our technology to fall into human hands – especially hands as evil as theirs."

Ratchet cast the Decepticon medic one final mistrustful look, before turning on his heel and heading out of the sickbay. Suddenly finding himself alone with the Autobot commander, Knock Out crossed his servos and gave a prickly sigh. "I hope you plan on explaining why you won't let me leave," he said haughtily.

"I believe it is in our best interests to work together, Knock Out," Optimus stated.

The medic raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the prospect. "Come again?"

"Though our factions may hold conflicting opinions," Optimus explained carefully. "Our current situation is dire. Teaming up with us may be the only way for you to rescue Breakdown."


	3. One Of Us

"You want him to stay _where?_"

"Trust me, honey – I'd rather kick back in a scraplet trap."

Knock Out and Arcee stood across from each other in a hallway of the Autobot base, servos folded defiantly as they glared each other down. Their expressions were almost identical; the white plains of his face were taut in cocky superiority, her silver faceplates pinched with disgust. Standing calmly beside the Decepticon, Optimus gestured with one hand as though attempting to sway a stubborn child.

"It will only be temporary, Arcee," he said gently. "For the moment; Knock Out is unable to return to the Decepticon ship, and has agreed to participate in a ceasefire until we are able to infiltrate MECH's base of operations."

"But why _my_ room, Optimus?" demanded the cycle Transformer. She placed her slender hands on her hips, pouting. "Why can't he stay with Bumblebee – or better yet, in the supply vault?"

Knock Out sighed irritably and averted his gaze, offended. "Ratchet informs me that Bumblebee is still attempting to restore his regular sleep patterns," Optimus explained, before raising an eyebrow. "I am also aware that you have taken to sleeping in Jack's garage as of late, leaving your room vacant. As I stated earlier, Arcee; this arrangement will only be temporary."

Arcee sighed, shuttering her optics and shaking her head in defeated disbelief. "If you say so…" she mumbled. Her scowl returned in a nanoklik, and she jabbed a pointed finger in the Decepticon's direction. "But he'd better not touch my stuff. If I come back in the morning and find so much as one bolt out of place-"

"Don't fret, two-wheeler," Knock Out sneered, waving a hand. "I highly doubt there's anything in _your_ quarters that could interest me."

The female made to challenge him, but Knock Out was already turning on his heel to walk away. Arcee fumed silently instead as she watched the Decepticon strut toward her room, clenching her fists as he slipped through the doorway and out of sight.

"With all due respect," she began in an angered mutter. Optimus inclined his head to gaze down at her, something close to disappointment etched into his faceplates. "I think this was a terrible idea. What were you _thinking_, Optimus? A Decepticon – here?"

"I can sense something different in him, Arcee," rumbled the Autobot commander. "He may wear Megatron's brand – the brand which symbolises everything that contradicts our way of life – but the bond between him and the Decepticon in MECH's custody is one not unlike those that exist between ourselves. I believe that he would willingly put himself in harm's way to save the life of his friend…just as we would for each other."

Uncomfortable, Arcee folded her arms – albeit more loosely than before. "I understand that, but…" she began, trailing off into silence for a moment. "I just don't like the idea of him being here. Once we get into MECH's base, who's to say he won't turn on us?"

Optimus smiled gravely. "I suppose that is a risk that we will simply have to take," he said.

Knock Out stepped into Arcee's quarters, hands on his hips as he let out a lengthy sigh. The room was brightly-lit, barren compared to his own quarters back on the Nemesis. Motorcycle parts lay scattered on the floor, along with other components and pieces of equipment that he didn't recognise. He spotted a well-used buffing kit on a high shelf, surrounded by a modest collection of racing trophies.

The Decepticon seated himself on the edge of the berth, feeling decidedly out-of-place. Massaging the hand that had been torn to pieces so many stellar cycles ago as he stared nonchalantly around at Arcee's room, he wondered how Megatron would react to the knowledge that one of his underlings was teaming up with the Autobots. Though he told himself that his actions here would mean nothing once Breakdown was rescued, it felt very strange to think that he and Prime's band of lackeys were working together.

Not that much _work_ is actually going on, he thought with a bitter frown. So what if Earth's sun had set? Cybertronians didn't need to act by its light like humans did. Why weren't they out looking for Breakdown now? The Autobots were probably all going to sit on their backsides, wasting time with those pathetic little humans until morning. Why couldn't he go out alone to search right now? After all, what did Breakdown matter to the _Autobots?_

"Prime's a fool…" he muttered, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. "I could take them all on – reveal their base's location to Lord Megatron if I wanted to – and yet…"

Why did Optimus trust him? The Autobot commander's faith was evident from the sheer fact that Knock Out had been allowed to stay in the two-wheeler's quarters unguarded – but he couldn't work out why he had been met with such hospitality. Shuttering his optics as he slouched against the wall, he thought back to his previous encounters with the Autobots. The first time they'd met, he'd used his energon prod on Prime himself – twice. He'd also kidnapped a human, thinking the boy to be the friend of the yellow muscle car. He wondered, as he felt himself drifting into recharge, why Optimus would let him in so willingly.

A tiny sound met Knock Out's audio receptors all of a sudden. He sat up, surprised to find that someone had turned out the lights – and even more so to spot the three human children sitting in a triangle beside him on the berth. They didn't seem to realise that he was awake; suspicious, he watched for a while as they played some sort of card game. The female allowed the older male to take one of her cards, who in turn offered his hand to the runt with glasses. The runt then removed a card from his own hand, placing it and the one he had taken from his peer down on a small pile at the centre of their sitting arrangement, and presented his remaining cards to the girl.

"What are you doing?" Knock Out asked flatly. The three humans jumped as though electrocuted, dropping their cards, and stared up at the Decepticon with wide eyes. He might have found their reaction amusing, had he not been so irritated.

"Did we wake you?" asked the youngest human, fearful.

Knock Out gave a mirthless breath of laughter, crossing his servos. "I wasn't asleep," he lied. "Now…are you going to answer my question, or do I have to rip you all limb from limb?"

"We're playing _chase the ace_," hastened the female, Miko. She gave a bright smile, and began to gather the scattered deck without looking. "You want in?"

Humans…thought Knock Out. "Maybe I should rephrase," he sighed. "What are you doing _here_, in this room, when I didn't give you permission to be here?"

The oldest human, Jack, seemed to falter as he hooked one hand around the back of his neck. "We thought you might want some company," he mumbled awkwardly. "After all…nobody likes to be alone after they lose someone, right?"

The Decepticon furrowed his brow upon receiving such an unexpected answer. With a slight start, he realised that all three humans were watching him with oddly sympathetic eyes. "I don't want your company," he hissed, extending a servo and making to swat them off the berth. They scrambled to their feet, panicking, and hopped down to the floor. "Get away from me – I'm one of the bad guys, remember? I'm not anybot's charity case."

The two male humans made to head for the doorway at once, but Miko remained where she stood – even as Knock Out shot her an icy glare. Her defiance caught him by surprise; no fleshbag had ever had the guts to stand up to him before. Jack took hold of her wrist and attempted to lead her out of the room, but she pulled free without looking at him.

"You don't have to act tough all the time, you know," she huffed, before giving an exaggerated shrug and then folding her arms. "So you're a Decepticon – big deal. You still have feelings, don't you? You're allowed to ask for help if you need it."

"I _don't_ need it," snapped Knock Out.

Miko opened her mouth to respond, but Raf beat her to it. "I think you do," he said quietly. Both the Decepticon and his fellow humans glanced at him in surprise, silent. "I…I think you're afraid."

Knock Out forced a sarcastic laugh. "Oh? Of what?"

"Of what might be happening to your friend," Raf replied, stepping to Miko's side. "Of the pain he might be going through – of the thought that…you might not be able to help him."

The Decepticon said nothing, finding himself locked optic-to-eye with the youngest human. What utter absurdity…right? Him – _afraid?_ For Breakdown…yes, he _was_ afraid. He couldn't even begin to imagine what those humans might be doing to his partner – but Raf was right. Sitting around like this, waiting, with those thoughts spinning through his processor…terrified Knock Out.

"Or am I wrong?" asked Raf. Knock Out glanced up, having dropped his gaze to the panelled floor. The three humans were now standing together, side by side, watching him. "If I'm wrong, we'll leave you alone right now."

After studying their fleshy faces for a moment longer, Knock Out gave a heavy sigh and drew his legs up onto the berth. He lay down, flat on his back, and waved an impatient hand. "Do whatever you want," he muttered, shuttering his optics. "You're not worth the bother…I don't care what you do."

With a triumphant chuckle, Miko vaulted back onto the berth beside the Decepticon's shins. "Awesome," she grinned. Jack helped Raf clamber up to sit beside her, unable to keep the smile from his face as they made to resume their game. "So, roomy – wanna play cards with us?"

"_No._"


	4. Prisoner

A muffled silence filled Breakdown's audio receptors. He felt groggy – too groggy to lift his head – and the motors in his optic shields didn't seem to be working. A strange numbness filled his frame; through the haze of paralysis, he sent signals to various parts of his body in attempt to learn how badly he was damaged. His processor received no response.

As he regained a slanted grip of consciousness, he tried to recall the last handful of stimuli that had passed through his sensory receptors before slipping into stasis lock. He remembered a sudden surge of pain, a powerful electric current, ripping through his circuits. Hazily, arduously, the memory of pushing his partner out of harm's way swam to mind. That's right…those humans tried to fire some sort of weapon at Knock Out. The shot must have hit me instead, he thought thickly.

"Hey…look at that. I think it's awake…"

Breakdown stirred, struggling against the fatigue. The stifled sound of tiny footsteps drifted into his audios, confusing him. He couldn't pinpoint the noise – his senses were swimming in darkness.

"Stay focused, gentlemen. I want as much of that thing analysed before our dear agent Fowler attempts to relieve us of it."

That voice… Breakdown forced his optics open a crack, hitching in a surprised breath as they were stung by a painful glare of light. He tried to raise a hand to shield them, but felt the command dissipate somewhere around his wrist. He was in some kind of hangar, one that had been cleared of planes and filled instead with masses of advanced Earth-tech. Confused, he rolled his head to the side – and found himself face to face with a human.

The first thing that registered in Breakdown's processor was the human's grin. It was wide, sinister, slightly downturned at the corners. Unpleasant. His jaw was blocky, brows heavy, eyes sharp with malice. The scars that cut across his nose and forehead were markings of a man who had suffered much – but his cruel expression slaughtered any inklings of sympathy. He was dressed similarly to the humans from the blockade, but held himself with an air of importance and authority.

"Greetings, visitor," he said, in dangerously soft tones. Breakdown stared, uncomprehending, as the human cast his piercing gaze over the length of the Decepticon's body. "I am Silas, your host. Tell me…are you comfortable?"

Breakdown traced the paralysis in his body to its origin at the back of his shoulder, but soon realised that he had decidedly graver concerns. He had begun to regain limited feeling in almost every area of his exostructure, but there were several stretches of panelling that remained completely numb. His processor was only receiving partial signals from his chestplates, and couldn't feel his right arm at all. With a strained grunt of exertion, he raised his head to stare down at his body.

His right hand was gone – a weave of wiring and actuators rested in its place, the outer components of his fingers and hammer arranged neatly on a nearby table as though on display. He was lying atop some kind of examination table, great coils of cable binding him tightly in place, as several humans freely walked over the surface of his chassis, medical tools in hand. A sizeable chunk of his chestplate's outer casing was missing, exposing vital circuitry to the world.

Panicking, Breakdown struggled against his bonds – almost dislodging the two humans standing on his chest. They jumped down to the reflective floor at once, unnerved by the sudden movement, but the man named Silas barely flinched as the Decepticon thrashed weakly beneath the restraints.

"Those cables are ten times stronger than military grade rope," he stated calmly, as though watching a giant robot flail was nothing unusual. "No matter how hard you fight, you aren't going anywhere…so I suggest you make yourself at home."

Ignoring him, Breakdown gritted his teeth and strained against the cables. They were fixed so securely that he couldn't even transform into vehicle mode if he'd wanted to. Silas raised an eyebrow, almost impressed by his determination, but soon dropped his gaze to the small vial of thick blue liquid in his hand.

"I must admit," he began, giving the vial a quick shake. "It's your blood that intrigues me. You're a machine, and yet your body requires a seemingly-organic substance to operate. It appears not to be a lubricant, as one might initially suspect…but an energy source. _Truly_ fascinating."

"Whadda you want with me?" Breakdown growled, not ceasing in his efforts to pull loose.

Silas smirked, pocketing the vial. "I want to know what makes you tick," he replied smoothly, ignoring the other humans' mutters of surprise. "There is a war brewing – and with the most advanced technology at my disposal, _I_ will to lead the world into a new age…a new future. You are going to help me reach that level, my extraordinary mechanical friend."

Sure I am, the Decepticon thought sardonically. With a mighty heave, he lunged forwards – snapping the cables binding him to the table as though they were made of plastic. The humans, bar Silas, fled across the room as Breakdown ripped himself free of the restraints, yelling in panic as they sprinted for safety. Breakdown staggered to his feet, shielding his stripped hand, and let a rumbling growl escape his vocal processors as he towered over Silas. The scarred human glared straight up into his optics, unflinching and unfazed, as the Decepticon loomed like a giant overhead.

"You're not worth crushing," snarled Breakdown. He turned on his heel and stumbled into a run, smashing a path through the collection of human equipment, heading for the exit. Not caring that the exit was locked and bolted, the Decepticon charged with a roar – ramming clean through the metal doors and staggering out onto the cracked tarmac of an airfield.

He stared around for a moment, optics adjusting slowly to the darkness of the night. A huge full moon lurked in the inky sky – but its light was smothered by a thick blanket of clouds. Breakdown lurched forward, activating his comlink as he rushed past a motionless squadron of those green helicopters from that afternoon.

"Knock Out!" he hastened, cradling his damaged arm as he ran. The scene brought back memories. "Knock Out – where are you?"

No response.

An unpleasantly-familiar sound met Breakdown's audio receptors instead, less than a nanoklik before something sharp buried itself into his back. It sent an incapacitating surge of electricity coursing through his systems, exactly like the last time, crippling him and shorting out his comlink. He fell to his knees and mismatched hands, panting, but willed himself not to lose consciousness as his elbows shook from the effort of supporting his own weight. A second cannon-blast shattered the silence of the night – then a third – as two more pain-inducing projectiles introduced themselves to his exostructure. His strength finally gave as the current overloaded his circuits; he fell to the ground, servos twitching uncontrollably, and struggled to draw breath as a pair of boots planted themselves in front of his optics.

"Looks like you're stronger than I thought," Silas commented, crouching before the debilitated Decepticon with still-sparking weapon in hand. Breakdown stared up at him, vision whirling and pitching, mouth locked open against the tarmac. "It would also appear that just one of these isn't enough to keep you quiet. But no matter…we have plenty of them to spare."

Breakdown watched him stand as if in slow-motion, unable to move, the sound of those boots on the tarmac reverberating like an echo. Silas straightened up; he turned to face the handful of subordinates who had followed him out of the hangar, a grim scowl on his face.

"Get that thing back inside – and quickly," he ordered, brushing roughly between them. "We can't afford to waste any more time fooling around. I want every detail of its body taken apart and documented by morning."


	5. Factionless

"What is it, Ratchet?" asked Optimus, crossing the Autobot command centre. Bumblebee and Bulkhead walked alongside him toward the monitors, shoulders seating their respective humans, faceplates muddled with curiosity as they approached the medic.

"I detected an odd transmission in the early hours of the morning," Ratchet began, gesturing a hand importantly. Stretched across the screen behind him was a graphic depicting an audio sample; one whose chaotic tangle of frequencies resembled a digital forest of scrambled information. "I was unable to perform a location scan before it disappeared, but I _was_ able to record it."

Optimus came to a halt beside the medic, raising his optics to the monitor as he gave a single nod of the head. On receiving his consent, Ratchet tapped a key beneath the display. A strange sound burst through the command centre – loud and high-pitched, like the screams of wailing sirens – prompting the humans to clap their hands over their ears. Bumblebee tried to shield Raf from the painful sound, an alarmed tone escaping his vocal processor, but the other Autobots merely stared in perplexity at the monitor. Less than three nanokliks later, the sound cut away – and silence abruptly fell again on the room.

"What was _that?_" Raf asked, hesitantly uncovering his ears. Bulkhead raised an eyebrow in Ratchet's direction, as Optimus leaned toward the screen for a closer look at the signal. "It was worse than Miko's guitar-playing!"

"Hey!" shot Miko.

For once, Optimus turned a deaf audio toward the humans. "Any theories, Ratchet?" he murmured. Miko sulked in silence as the medic raised a hand to thoughtfully trace the contours of his chin.

"It appears to be some kind of communication," he speculated. "The signal strength is through the roof – but it's just noise. I can't make heads or tails of it. However…I doubt there exists a single piece of Earth technology capable of transmitting on this kind of frequency. _My_ guess is that it's of Decepticon origin."

The commander reflected on his words for a moment, before straightening up and folding his arms. "Perhaps we should ask our resident Decepticon for his thoughts on the matter," he said. He then turned to face the scout, who perked up at once. "Bumblebee-"

"No need to send your errand-bot, Prime – I'm already here."

The Autobots turned as one in response to the slick voice, watching as Knock Out straightened up in the entrance. He had been lounging against its frame, arms folded across his chassis, listening in to the conversation. Bumblebee gave a whine of protest at the nickname as the Decepticon stepped forward into the command centre, but his objection went unheeded. Bulkhead shifted his weight uncomfortably onto one leg, Miko giving a cheery wave in greeting from atop his wide shoulder.

"I was _trying_ to get some rest, when a ghastly noise met my audios and awoke me from recharge," Knock Out sighed, ignoring her completely. Miko glanced curiously at Raf, who shrugged his shoulders. The Decepticon came to a smooth halt a small distance from Bumblebee and Bulkhead, brow furrowing as his optics fell upon the monitors. "Mind telling me what the Pit's going on in here?"

Clearly unimpressed by Knock Out's attitude, Ratchet crossed his arms. "Early this morning, I intercepted an odd transmission on an unknown frequency," he grumbled, grimacing somewhat. "Most likely of Decepticon origin. Given your… _expertise_ in that area, perhaps you can make some sense of it?"

Knock Out didn't seem to hear him. His crimson optics were tracing the graphic displayed on the central screen, lips slightly parted as though taken by complete surprise. The Autobot medic glanced at Optimus, wary of the Decepticon's silence, as Raf similarly studied the monitor with a fascinated expression.

"Does it mean anything to you?" asked the commander.

"It's…a distress beacon," Knock Out replied. His voice was restrained; unnerved. He stepped forward, brushing past Optimus with intrigued optics fixed on the monitor. Ratchet gave a small breath of disbelief – but that, too, went ignored, as Knock Out positioned himself at the keyboard beneath the screens and began to rapidly tap on its surface. "I recognise the encryption algorithm."

"What do you think you're doing?" Ratchet demanded, watching those sharp fingers flash dangerously across the keyboard with alarmed optics.

"Making some sense of it," the Decepticon replied flatly. "Decoding the message is quite simple, really – or, it _would_ be…if you Autobots weren't using such an antiquated system…"

Knock Out jabbed several more keys, before the graphic depicting the strange transmission suddenly split into two. One image merely showed a chaotic fluctuation of senseless code, while the other portrayed a clear sample of audio data. Despite the Autobots' mutterings behind him, he didn't pause to bask in his own magnificence. The Decepticon hit another key, and the transmission began to play again – this time in the form of a panicked voice that shook him to the core.

"_Knock Out! Knock Out – where are you?"_

The recording cut off abruptly, leaving the Autobot command centre in a deathly stillness. Miko could feel the ex-Wrecker tensing beneath her; Bulkhead knew that voice all too well, but had never heard it used in such anxious tones. Optimus frowned in Knock Out's direction, as Bumblebee and Raf exchanged uneasy glances.

"Ratchet," began the commander, his gentle voice puncturing the silence. Knock Out dropped his gaze to the floor, hands gripping the edges of the keyboard so tightly that his fingers left indentations in its surface. "Is there any way to triangulate the origin coordinates of the transmission?"

"Impossible," sniffed the Autobot medic. His voice was significantly quieter than before, as though he felt at least a small inkling of sympathy for the Decepticon. "I already told you; the signal disappeared before I could get a lock on it."

"If you were using more _sophisticated_ technology, you might have been able to trace the signal back to its source," Knock Out spat, rounding on Ratchet. The medics stared each other down, neither wearing a particularly friendly expression on their faceplates. "Breakdown needs my help – and I can't give it to him because _your_ obsolete equipment cannot perform a simple task in under half a cycle."

"Watch your mouth, _Decepticon_," Ratchet growled, sympathy all but forgotten as he raised an accusing finger. "If you're going to do nothing but gripe and snap at us, then I'd be more than happy to Bridge you out and let you handle MECH on your own. Who knows – you might even learn some manners while trying to convince them to give your partner back."

Knock Out pushed Ratchet hard in the faceplates, catching him off-guard and forcing him to stagger back – but Optimus seized the Autobot medic's shoulder before he could retaliate. Ratchet fell motionless, only able to glower at the Decepticon as the others watched in uneasy silence. He glared right back, fists clenched and ready to swing at the slightest provocation.

"Knock Out," Optimus rumbled, voice firm but oddly calm at the same time. "Perhaps it would be best if you took a cycle or two to cool off outside."

The Decepticon stared fiercely at Ratchet for a moment longer, before flicking his optics upward to not quite meet Optimus' gaze. "I'd be glad to," he uttered, brushing roughly past the medic. He dropped swiftly into vehicle mode, the snarl of his engine momentarily filling the command centre, before flooring his accelerator and charging out into the corridor.

Bumblebee gave a buzzing sigh as the sound of Knock Out's engine gradually grew more distant. On his shoulder, Raf nudged uncertainly at his glasses. "What's his problem?" asked the youngest human.

"Can't you work it out?" Bulkhead murmured, with a slow shake of the head. "His best pal's missing, and he's teamed up with the enemy to try and get him back. How do you think that's gotta make him feel?"

Ratchet shrugged out of Optimus' grip. "That's still no excuse for a foul attitude," the medic shot, as he stooped slightly to inspect the damage to the keyboard.

Gesturing with one hand, the scout let a low hum escape his vocal processor. Raf stared at him in surprise, able to decode what Bumblebee had said a split second before the others. Ratchet faltered, spinning around to gawp at him with astonishment on his faceplates.

"Don't tell me you're on _his_ side?" he demanded.

Bumblebee folded his arms, unflinching at the centre of the Autobots' attentions. I'm not taking sides, he said; but if Raf was in big trouble, I wouldn't know what to do with myself either until he was safe again.


	6. Family

Knock Out didn't know where he was going – only that he had to get as far away from the Autobots as possible. He kept his accelerator pressed against the floor, charging in top gear along the desert roads of Jasper, not glancing in his rear-views despite the knowledge that the clouds of dust his tyres were kicking up would obscure their base from sight even if he looked.

"Useless crankshafts…" he muttered fiercely, ignoring the shrieking horn of a battered-looking pickup as he swerved into the wrong lane to overtake. "Autobots, humans… what a fraggin' waste of space, the lot of them! They drive me insane…"

In spite of his anger, he knew he couldn't return to the Nemesis without Breakdown. How would he explain himself? He didn't care what Starscream thought anymore – it was Megatron that the medic was worried about. As he found himself strafing back into the correct lane, Knock Out wondered darkly if Megatron would even care that his partner was missing. Somehow, he doubted that the Decepticon leader would order a rescue party for anyone other than himself – except perhaps Soundwave. The silent intel-bot was far too loyal and far too useful for Megatron to let be dismantled by those disgusting humans.

But Breakdown? In their master's optics, Breakdown was assuredly nothing more than a simple soldier – and there were plenty of _those_ already aboard the Nemesis, eagerly awaiting the next command. Even if Knock Out _did_ return to the ship and request they use valuable energon looking for his missing partner, Megatron would probably punish him for becoming too attached to somebot other than himself. And he didn't even want to _speculate_ what might happen to him if the others learned that he'd made a deal with the Autobots…

"Look at the mess you've gotten yourself into this time, Knock Out," he sighed, in attempt to calm himself down. Up ahead, in the rapidly-approaching distance, he spotted a set of crimson traffic lights. It took a great deal of self-restraint to ease on his breaks and come to a halt at the back of a line of stationary cars, rather than speed through regardless like he usually would have done. As he waited for the lights to turn green, listening to the reserved growling of his engine, Knock Out let out a heavy breath and retreated to the depths of his memory banks.

_The pain of the grenade blast was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He'd already suffered plenty of damage over the course of the war – after all, being a medic meant running into the line of fire to retrieve the injured – but nothing like __this__._

_He lay on the ground for a while, momentarily blinded and deafened by the explosion, the sense knocked clean from his circuits. One of his optics wasn't functioning properly, and he could feel a strange wetness seeping across his faceplates. There was pain in his body – too much for him to process anything else. The war waged on around him, rumbling and shattering, as he lay stunned amongst the rubble._

"_Knock Out – sir?"_

_He rolled his head to one side, groaning, searching blindly for the source of the voice. His arm felt hot, numb. Were those Seekers in the sky? A familiar face swam into view, taut and frenzied, with wide yellow optics. That bot…Knock Out knew him. What was his name? He couldn't remember. The face disappeared, and a wide servo clamped itself around his chassis. Searing pain shot through his arm and he gasped, trying to pull away, sliding back to reality as the ringing in his audios dissolved into a staccato of gunfire._

_Breakdown was still lying in the debris at the base of the chasm, trying to pull the dazed medic to safety. Knock Out scrambled upright – sensing himself caught in the crosshairs of the elevated enemy snipers who had tried to gun him down before. He staggered, too dazed by pain for movement, and fell toward cover; Breakdown dragged him out of range as the snipers opened fire. Senses reeling, Knock Out watched as their bullets peppered the broken ground like metal rain._

_His lower arm was completely gone – not even the central frame remained intact. Valves and pistons stuck out at odd angles where his elbow should have been, circuits shorting painfully, streaming energon like no tomorrow. Stunned, he clamped his remaining hand over the stump in attempt to stem the flow – sending blistering agony shooting through his systems. His chassis was charred and punctured with shards of crimson shrapnel; fragments of his own body. _

"_What a pair we are," he hissed thickly though the haze of hurt, glancing at Breakdown's similarly one-armed body. He tried to laugh; but the effort involved made his processor spin, so he stopped. Breakdown reached for him, concerned, but withdrew his servo as the ground shook with the force of another explosion. "We have to get out of here – it's only a matter of time before those snipers get a good angle on us…"_

_Breakdown shuffled closer to the mound of debris and peered over its peak, quickly scanning the battlefield. A nanoklik later, he rapidly withdrew his head as the snipers once again opened fire. Knock Out ducked, shielding his head with his remaining arm, but gave a start as he realised that he was suddenly alone._

"_Breakdown?" he gasped, staring around with his functional optic._

_He saw his fellow Decepticon storm across the chasm, watched him vault out of the relative-safety of the ravine and onto the battlefield. The snipers began to open fire at once – but Breakdown continued to charge straight ahead, toward the column supporting their vantage point. Bullets ricocheted off his chassis, the sound accenting the dull thunder of distant battles. A stray shot slammed into the mound of wreckage that was Knock Out's cover, scattering dirt. "Stay down!" Breakdown roared. _

_Knock Out complied; he flattened himself against the ravaged ground, tightly shuttering his partially-working optics as though he believed sightlessness could protect him. He was afraid – more so than he had ever been on the battlefield. Try as he might, he couldn't drown out the sound of the gunfire – he couldn't keep himself from imagining what might be happening to Breakdown…what might happen to him._

_He was going to go offline – they both were. Knock Out was so sure of it that he thought he'd passed into the Well of All Sparks when an eerie silence suddenly fell over the battleground. He kept his optics shut, not because he was afraid – but because he lacked the strength to open them. The sound of slowly-approaching footsteps soon met his audios; he could hear the rhythmic crunch of metal and gravel underfoot. Odd…was the floor of the Well littered with shrapnel, too?_

"_Knock Out, sir?" asked a gruff voice. "Sir…are you alright?"_

"_I'm offline…" he muttered thickly. "And if I can hear you…that must mean you're offline, too."_

"_We're not offline, sir."_

_Knock Out cracked his optics open. Breakdown was staring down at him, battered and dripping energon from every panel of his chassis, waiting anxiously for a response. The medic gazed back up at him, processor swimming in a fog of wonder. "We're alive…?" he asked._

"_Yeah…we're alive."_

"Move it, you morons!"

Knock Out gave a start, surprised to hear the blaring of a horn from somewhere immediately behind him. The lights had turned green and the dusty road ahead was clear of traffic. The human in the car behind, a bluish land cruiser, was leaning out of its window, shaking his fist angrily.

"Don't you know?" asked a familiar female voice. Knock Out snapped his gaze to the side, taken aback when he noticed Arcee sitting beside him in vehicle form. Her human, Jack, was waving apologetically at the driver of the cruiser. Arcee's wing mirror tilted slightly, as though she was raising an eyebrow toward the Decepticon. "Green means 'go'."

"I know that," Knock Out hissed, flooring his accelerator. He lurched forward into drive, shaking himself mentally as Arcee similarly eased into motion and veered into his slipstream. "What do you want, two-wheeler?"

Arcee gave a sarcastic breath of laughter that was almost lost in the wind. "I was on my way to the base with Jack when Optimus contacted me," she began to explain. "He told me to keep an optic on you; I heard you had quite the little argument with Ratchet before."

"So what?" the Decepticon replied indifferently. "Somebot had to knock that fool down a few pegs."

"Wish I'd been around to see _that_."

Her response took Knock Out by slight surprise. "And here I thought you Autobots were a tightly-knit clan," he commented, coolly overtaking two humans riding bicycles.

"We are," she shot, swerving slightly from side to side as if to exaggerate. "We care deeply about each other, and would do anything to protect each other – but there are times when even we have our differences… and tempers can run a little high, like they probably did back at base just now. But we stick together – because we're a family, Knock Out. You probably don't understand that, but… that's the way it is."

The Decepticon fell silent for a while, mulling over her words, before slamming on his brakes and jerking his steering wheel sharply in a swift u-turn. Jack flailed a little in panic as Arcee followed Knock Out's lead; the two Cybertronians abruptly inverted their course, speeding back the way they came past the irritated stream of traffic.

"Okay – what was _that_ all about?" Arcee asked suspiciously.

"I think I've cooled off enough," Knock Out sighed heavily. "I want to see if I can't boost your base's pathetic scanners to try and locate MECH."


	7. Cooperation

"What are you, a maintenance drone? Hurry up and hand me that patch cable already."

"I won't hand you anything if you keep up with that attitude," Ratchet sniffed.

The two medics knelt side by side on the panelled floor of the Autobot base, shoulders tensed as though the very thought of their proximity caused physical pain. Rather than apologise, Knock Out chose to remain silent as he pawed through the innards of the main computer in the command centre. He and Ratchet were surrounded by reams of wiring and maintenance equipment, their servos stiff from crouching down for so long.

Ratchet raised an eyebrow, scornful. "Well?" he asked, holding a loop of thin cable just out of the Decepticon's reach. "Do you want this or not?"

"Yes," Knock Out replied stiffly. Ratchet's brow travelled even higher, disappearing completely under the amber crest on his forehead. "Yes _please_."

With a mocking smirk, Ratchet extended his arm to offer the cable. "There – was that so difficult?"

"You have no idea," sighed Knock Out, extracting one hand from inside the computer to reach for the flex.

Watching from the humans' living area, Arcee gave a small sigh and turned to face her commander. Standing at her side; Optimus inclined his head in response to her expression, arms folded beneath his chestplates. He didn't have to speak for her to read exactly what was on his processor, and nor did she have say anything to let him know that she was in agreement with his thoughts. Even Jack, watching furtively from the pale sofa before them, could sense it: the awkward tension between the two medics was heavy enough to speak for itself.

On returning to the base with Arcee and Jack, Knock Out had fallen strangely quiet. He had approached Ratchet without fear and, in front of the entire Autobot Earth team, apologised to him. His request for forgiveness had sounded decidedly rigid and forced, but had been accepted just as laboriously by his fellow medic. After several awkward cycles in which Knock Out attempted to explain just how antiquated the Autobots' scanners were, Ratchet had finally allowed the Decepticon to make several small modifications to their systems – with extremely close supervision.

"What do you hope to achieve with this thing, anyway?" he asked, as Knock Out disconnected a lead somewhere deep inside the terminal. The monitors above their heads flickered momentarily, before an error message popped onto the central screen. "I didn't think that Decepticons would even bother learning about primitive Earth tech, let alone be able to run maintenance on it."

Knock Out gave a humourless breath of laughter as he attached the patch cable onto the end of the freshly-removed flex. "I have a lot of free time these days, it seems," he replied, shifting on his aching knees. "Regardless – I'm recalibrating the sensitivity of your scanners. I've also added Breakdown's energy signature to this computer's data banks, meaning that we should be able to pinpoint his location from anywhere on this planet."

"Anywhere on this _planet?_" Ratchet repeated, sceptical. "I highly doubt that. Even if you were to reroute all of the base's power to the scanners, the chances of detecting such a specific signature across the entire face of the Earth are infinitesimally slim. Human technology is noisy and chaotic – there is simply too much interference."

"That's what _this_ is for," smirked the Decepticon, as he introduced the patch cable into the open socket. He got to his feet with slight difficulty and walked around to the keyboard, leaning in to swiftly type reams of seemingly-senseless code. Ratchet followed suit and struggled upright, encouraging feeling back into his servos as he observed with suspicious optics. "Watch and learn, old-timer."

Knock Out hit the final key in his sequence with a flourish, and glanced up at the screen expectantly. The error message flashed for a second – but disappeared before the Autobot medic could mock his apparent failure. An aerial map of the barren region surrounding Jasper flickered onto the monitor, marked with a cluster of four tiny points of light at its heart. Three of the dots were red, while the other was purple. Almost immediately afterwards, two more red points popped to life nearby.

"This is the result of a scan with your old systems," Knock Out explained, gesturing toward the central cluster as Arcee and Optimus began to approach the medics. "Here _we_ are, and those two must be the other 'bots who left before with the humans. Now I'll run a scan using the modifications I've made…"

The command centre was suddenly filled with the sound of Knock Out's sharp fingers tapping on the keyboard. Once silence fell again, he took a steadying breath and returned his optics uncertainly to the screen. The map began to zoom out and shrink, the dots representing the Cybertronians' energy signatures bunching closer together, displaying a wider expanse of desert wasteland. A sixth point of light – purple as royalty – abruptly blinked into being a good distance from the others.

"Well, whaddya know?" Arcee commented, folding her arms lightly. "The 'Con knows Earth tech."

As Knock Out studied the purple signature closely, Optimus stepped forward to catch the attention of his medic. "Ratchet," he began, coming to a halt beside his amber-and-white subordinate. "Does that point of light represent Breakdown's location?"

"I'm not sure…" Ratchet replied, trying not to look overly-impressed. "It's a Decepticon energy signature alright, but there's no way to tell whose for certain. Judging by its stationary position, however…I think it's safe to say that we're not looking at a Seeker."

Before Optimus could respond, Knock Out turned on his heel to face the Autobots and jabbed a finger toward the signal of his fellow Decepticon. "Where is this?" he demanded. His chest felt strangely tight – strained – as though the air was void of oxygen.

Cautious, Ratchet eased Knock Out aside and began to tap at the keyboard. "Hmm…it's not too far from here, actually," he said, surprised. "Almost directly due-North. It appears to be some kind of air base… situated on the southern shore of a large body of water named Groom Lake."

"Groom Lake?" Jack cut all of a sudden, incredulous. "Wait – as in, Area 51?"

The four Cybertronians present exchanged confused glances, prompting him to rise from the couch and approach the low railing that enclosed the humans' living area. Arcee watched him with one eyebrow raised, intrigued. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"It's a top-secret government facility – or so say the conspiracy theorists," he began to explain, gesturing a hand. "There's a whole bunch of myths and rumours surrounding it to do with UFOs and other mysterious phenomena. Not to mention the fact that it's in the middle of nowhere – there's nothing around for miles. It's the perfect place to hide a Decepticon."

Knock Out studied the human for a moment, before turning solemnly to face the Autobot commander. "MECH didn't hesitate to turn their guns on me," he said, managing to uphold his composure. "But if what he says is true about this place being remote, then we needn't worry about maintaining our cover for fear of civilian interference. I suggest we depart immediately."

"It won't be that easy to get in," Jack hastened. He gave an exaggerated shrug under the weight of the Decepticon's stare, apologetic. "Like I said, the place is _military_. Security's gonna be tight – and with all the government secrets it's supposed to be protecting, I'll bet there's a lot more than your average Decepticon stowed away in there. You guys'll never make it in."

Ratchet gave a shallow laugh, and crossed the command centre to the GroundBridge controls. "You forget," he smirked, proudly patting the control panel with one hand. "Human security measures are nothing that _we_ have to worry about."


	8. Rescue

As Breakdown drifted between the plains of consciousness, he both did and didn't know where he was. He was delirious, his muffled thoughts incoherent, rocked by the sensation of perpetual movement despite the solid feel of a cold examination table beneath his chassis. His optics were tightly shuttered against the painful glare of some alien light source overhead, audio sensors filled by a stream of sound that undulated with accordance to various unpleasant sensations in his body. His body… he felt strangely distant to it, somehow – as though it and his mind had been divided into separate entities.

A sharp flash of pain across his abdomen soon brought the two crashing back together – bound too tightly to recoil, Breakdown gritted his teeth and cracked open his optics. The blinding light did not appear to be coming from a single large source, but from several smaller ones bunched close together immediately overhead. He scowled at their tight hexagonal formation, trying to make some sense of it. As his vision began to clear, he slowly realised that he was staring at a ceiling-mounted surgical lamp. Startled beneath the fog of disorientation; he twisted his head as far to the side as his restraints would allow, spark racing deep inside his chest.

As he tested the extent of his paralysis, the rest of Breakdown's surroundings gradually slid into view. He found himself in a cavernous room, the distant walls reflective and spotless, wanly lit but steeped in a dull scarlet glow. The table to which he was tightly strapped stood at the centre of the room, in full glare of numerous white spotlights, overlooked by a raised platform that bore sinister resemblance to an observation deck from the old operating theatres back in Kaon. He could just make out several human silhouettes beyond its rail, motionlessly staring down like scavengers, watching him in total silence. It was a scene from a morbid nightmare. The metallic glint of surgical equipment pierced the semi-darkness on all sides; apparatus resembling laser cutters and surgical drills were pointing hungrily toward him from their fixtures on the ceiling, armies of lethal-looking blades and scalpels waiting atop medical trolleys in energon-thirsty crowds.

One of the ceiling-mounted arms was moving. He strained to get a better look at it, pushing weakly against the constricting cable that crossed his forehead, thickly surprised to see a white-coated human standing atop his chest. Breakdown couldn't feel him there at all, either due to numbness or the disgusting creature's sheer lack of weight. The reason why soon became decidedly unimportant; the human was manipulating some sort of open box-shaped contraption that was attached to the end of the arm – a contraption housing three circular saw blades with edges like the jagged teeth of some ravenous predator.

There was a small click, before a high-pitched whirring sound flared through the silence of the room. His spark's pace quickened as the human moved the frenzied blades closer to the Decepticon's stomach. Breakdown tried to struggle against his restraints, but could barely raise a finger in his weakened state. He let his head roll to the side as the blades began to rip into the metal of his chassis, hot pain spiking like fire under their fangs. He tried to resist it, ignore it; retreating to the depths of his processor to search frantically for a distraction.

_Despite Breakdown's efforts to keep him talking, Knock Out lost consciousness before the Dropship arrived. Dozens of fellow Decepticon soldiers disembarked onto the battlefield, armed and ready to take care of the remaining Autobot forces, but Breakdown couldn't stick around long enough to watch the fray. He and the injured medic were hauled onto the ship, and transported to one of the few remaining medical facilities. He had never before seen as many broken soldiers in one place as he did in the crowded ward where they were dumped for 'treatment': he and Knock Out were both haphazardly grafted with temporary servos – semi-functional limbs that matched neither their body types nor their paintjobs. Not that the latter particularly mattered in their current situation._

_He didn't know how long they were kept there. The expressionless medic who darted from patient to patient didn't seem to be aware of the groans and whimpers that filled the swarming ward, or of the fact that several of his patients had already passed into the Well of AllSparks. Cramped, exhausted, and battered to the core, Breakdown tried to stir Knock Out from unconsciousness._

"_Hey," he muttered, too tired to raise his voice above a whisper. He placed the hand of his temporary arm on Knock Out's shoulder, and shook him weakly. The medic's head bumped against the energon-stained wall that propped them both into sitting positions, but he otherwise remained unmoving. The smaller Decepticon was a complete mess – but somehow Breakdown doubted that he himself looked much better. One side of Knock Out's helmet was misshapen from the grenade blast, the optic below damaged almost to the point of no-repair. That, coupled with the dried rivers of spilled energon that streaked across his charred faceplates, gave the impression that he'd been dragged through the Pit and back._

_Though Breakdown knew it was the job of a medic to assist the wounded, he couldn't shake the feeling that he and Knock Out hadn't bumped into each other by accident. He didn't believe in 'fate' or any of that garbage, and felt it was best for a bot to care only about himself in war – but the thought of watching this almost-stranger's spark fade into oblivon was not one he particularly liked. Maybe it was because this guy was another of the few Decepticons who preferred automobile form over Seeker, or simply because Breakdown had already seen more than his fair share of carnage and destruction on the battlefield – but he didn't want to watch Knock Out die. _

"_Sir…wake up," he pressed, shaking the medic a little more urgently this time. Again, he received no response – aside from several distasteful looks from the wounded Seekers on all sides. "Can you hear me? Knock Out!"_

_A sudden cough racked Knock Out's frame, and Breakdown pulled his hand quickly away in surprise. He watched as the medic's head lolled back on his neck, listening as he gave a feeble groan to imply consciousness. The undamaged crimson optic opened a sliver, and he stared hazily straight ahead. Breakdown's relief was hindered by the fact that his superior still looked completely out of it. _

"_Sir…?" asked the larger Decepticon. It seemed to take Knock Out a few nanokliks to realise that he was being addressed. After a moment of silence, the medic inclined his head to dazedly search for the source of the voice. He only appeared to be vaguely aware of his surroundings, but – more worryingly – seemed unable to recognise Breakdown after finally locating his crimson faceplates. "Sir – do you know who I am?"_

_The medic gaped at him for what felt like an eternity, unblinking and motionless. Breakdown's spark sank; he recognised those symptoms. Shellshock, the medics sometimes called it. He dropped his gaze to the grimy floor, letting out his breath in a frustrated sigh – but gave a start when he heard a rasping sound from beside him. "Don't call me sir…" Knock Out coughed with apparent difficulty, hunching forwards slightly as though speaking was painful, before sinking back against the wall. He gave a rather lopsided smirk, looking more exhausted than Breakdown felt. "Just 'Knock Out' is fine."_

A sudden burst of sound hauled Breakdown closer to reality. It was a different noise to the one he had tuned out with memories; the whining of the saws had stopped, replaced instead by what registered in his muddled processor simply as 'chaos'. He could hear gunfire and shouting, some voices familiar and others not, and a frantic scratching of metal from somewhere much closer to his audio processors. Twisting his head, he could just make out several coloured shapes flashing through the semi-darkness. The atmosphere had changed; instead of a weak and steady glow, the red lights were pulsing in a manner not dissimilar to an alarm system.

Through the paralysis, he could feel himself leaking energon. He thrashed weakly beneath the cables binding him to the operating table – taken aback as several came away despite his diminished strength. A metallic hand suddenly pressed against whatever panelling remained of his chest, the contact cool and stinging, but the slick voice that accompanied its presence replaced the fear in his spark with abrupt surprise.

"What are you doing, you fool? Lie still already so I can get these fraggin' things off of you."

"Knock Out?" gasped Breakdown, shock overriding the medic's instructions. Crimson optics glowing irritably through the half-light, Knock Out roughly pushed his partner back flat onto the table. Partially convinced that he was hallucinating, Breakdown gawped as the medic sliced clean through the restraints with the human surgical tool he had ripped from its still-sparking mount on the ceiling. "You… you got my message – you came for me?"

Knock Out gave a wry smirk. "Of course I did," he replied casually, severing the last of the cables. "We're partners, aren't we?"

Struggling into a clumsy sitting position as Knock Out swiftly collected the scattered fragments of his partner's chassis, Breakdown shifted his gaze to stare blearily around at the room. There were humans everywhere – MECH agents, swarming with weapons raised around two more of his fellow Decepticons. His optics fell upon the rather feminine frame of the closest Cybertronian, and he realised with a start that they weren't Decepticons at all. They were Autobots.

"Will you hurry it up already?" Arcee demanded, glowering over her shoulder at Knock Out. She was shielding herself and the two Decepticons from the humans' artillery with a wide section of panelling that she had torn off of the observation deck. "We can't hold MECH back forever!"

Breakdown gawped at her, bewildered, before spotting the Autobot commander himself barricading the entrance with the remainder of the observation deck. He saw that a sizeable hole had been blasted into the opposite wall, the scout named Bumblebee crouching just inside it and firing his blasters out across the airfield, and spotted Bulkhead busy making scrap-metal out of the squadrons of unoccupied helicopters outside.

Thoroughly confused, he opened his mouth to ask his partner for some kind of an explanation – but the thought was brushed from his processor as an all-too-familiar human stepped forward from the retreating throng of MECH soldiers. Silas was carrying a strange, primitive-looking weapon in his arms – one with a transparent cylinder of blue liquid attached beneath the barrel. Unnoticed by Arcee, he raised the energon-fuelled rifle and pointed it directly toward the Decepticons.

"I had hoped that we could do business together," he said silkily, a grim scowl on his face as the weapon audibly began to charge. Breakdown let out a rumbling growl – but Knock Out was the one who moved to intercept as Silas pulled the trigger of his new gun. The bluish shot glanced off the medic's chassis without so much as scratching his paint – hardly dangerous – but it enraged the Decepticon nonetheless. Knock Out reached down and snatched the gun clean out of Silas' hands, crushing it into dust between his sharp fingers.

"You call this a weapon?" he spat, towering over the human. "_Please._ As if human technology could ever harness the power of energon."

Looking decidedly unnerved, Silas began to back away as Knock Out raised a leg and moved to deliberately stand on the human – but was spared being crushed to death under several tonnes of Decepticon by Arcee, of all 'bots. She seized Knock Out's arm, pulling him back abruptly.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked in threatening tones.

"What does it look like I'm doing, you idiotic two-wheeler?" he shot. "I'm killing this human. Now _let go of me,_ before I decide to step on you as well."

"Enough," rumbled Optimus, from his vantage point in the entrance of the room. Knock Out fell silent, watching in disgust as Silas smirked darkly up at him. The sight of the human's scarred face was sickening, but not as much so as the thought of obeying orders from the Autobot commander. As Breakdown unsteadily got to his feet from the operation table, the medic spotted one of MECH's paralysing cannons laying on the floor several metres away. It gave him an idea – one that swiftly developed into a plan as Arcee released his wrist.

Knock Out suddenly ducked away from Arcee and seized the cannon up off the floor, aiming it directly at Optimus. The Autobot commander tensed his shoulders, otherwise pinned as he held the barricade in place to prevent more MECH soldiers from arriving, his optics burning with disappointment. Knock Out's finger faltered over the trigger as he backed away, closer to Breakdown, processor spiralling with fleeting thoughts of how Prime had done nothing but help him over the last few days. He thought of the human children, playing cards beside him on the berth, and of Arcee offering words of comfort in the desert. Megatron's insignia had been branded into his chassis, but – if only for a nanoklik – he couldn't work out which side of the war he was supposed to be on. Torn between factions, he then turned his thoughts toward Breakdown – and suddenly his morals were crystal clear again. He was a Decepticon.

Arcee intercepted the shot – diving between Knock Out and her commander – and crashed noisily to the floor as incapacitating electricity began to flood her circuitry. Knock Out didn't stick around to watch the chaos erupt; he tossed the still-sparking cannon aside and doubled back for his partner, dropping into vehicle mode and flooring his accelerator. Breakdown followed suit with some difficulty – since most of his panelling was either missing or damaged – and the two Decepticons gunned their engines, swerving around Bumblebee's shots and Bulkhead's swings as they charged through the hole in the wall and out across the airfield.

Knock Out's spark was pounding in his mouth as the snarls of their engines tore through the silence of the desert night, the Cybertronian equivalent of adrenaline coursing through his systems as they left both the Autobots and MECH's base of operations in the dust. Breakdown's engine didn't sound particularly healthy; the medic attempted to order his thoughts by making mental note of how he would take a look at it when they returned to the Nemesis. The Nemesis… how long had it been since he'd last laid eyes on the ship?

"Y'alright, Knock Out?" Breakdown called. The medic gave a slight start when he realised that his partner was no longer with him; Breakdown had dropped his speed significantly, engine spluttering every now and then.

"What about you?" Knock Out asked quickly, glancing over the question and easing on his brakes so that the bulkier Decepticon could catch up. He cast his worried gaze over that ravaged blue chassis as the two fell into sync, bouncing over the rocky sand. "How badly are you damaged?"

Breakdown gave a weak cough, which quickly became a dry round of laughter. "Nothing you can't fix," he said.


	9. Repairs

_Why did I shoot at Prime?_

Knock Out frowned, the sharp digits of one hand closing around a portable calibration device. He stood beside an occupied examination table in the Nemesis' sickbay, free hand delicately probing the exposed internals of Breakdown's outstretched forearm. The larger Decepticon didn't seem particularly comfortable as he hunched over on the very edge of the table – most likely due to his recent human encounter – faceplates locked in a rather grim formation. He stole brief glances at the white plains of his partner's face every now and then, expecting him to say something, but Knock Out remained inflexibly silent.

Despite attempting to focus on his work, the medic's memory overcame his processor for a nanoklik. The pulsing red light, the staccato of human gunfire and yelling – and those optics. Those crystal blue, eternally wise, undeniably _betrayed_ optics that had blazed like fury through the half-light. Upon escaping the desert with his partner, Knock Out had realised that he needn't have pulled the trigger on Optimus. The threat of shooting him alone would have been more than enough to keep the Autobots at bay – Prime had been pinned in place, and his lackeys wouldn't have dared try to stop the Decepticons from leaving with the medic pointing a gun at their commander's faceplates. So the question remained… why _did_ he? To prove his allegiance? To prove that he was a Decepticon – that he didn't need the Autobots' pity?

He narrowed his optics, ignoring the pressure that was quietly building at the back of his throat. Breakdown watched his partner's expression harden without speaking. It was unlike Knock Out to work in total silence; there was always some witty-but-casual remark or other to be made, no matter the state his patient was in – unless Lord Megatron himself was the one receiving treatment. Breakdown studied the medic's movements, able to sense that something was troubling him. He'd been strangely quiet ever since returning to the Nemesis – which was unusual, since they'd dodged a decidedly-irritated Starscream along the way. As Knock Out gave a small sigh and rather clumsily reattached the panelling of his partner's forearm, Breakdown cautiously toyed with the idea of requesting to know what was on his mind.

"Is somethin' up?" he asked lightly, gently massaging his freshly-repaired servo as the medic turned on his heel without a word.

"No," Knock Out replied at once, crossing the sickbay and stooping to return the calibrator to storage. After drawing himself up to full height again, the medic was surprised to find that he had to force himself to meet his partner's stare. "Why do you ask?"

Breakdown shrugged, attempting to appear casual. "You're pretty quiet," he muttered, watching as Knock Out gave a slightly more half-hearted shrug of his own. Dropping his gaze, the larger Decepticon eased himself down from the examination table and flexed his limbs. "It's not like you."

"I was concentrating," the medic half-invented. "Installing a signal dampener to fully-functional – not to mention _in-use_ – systems isn't exactly something you can do in recharge, you know. It takes a lot of precision work, and I wanted to do it right. We don't want the Autobots on your case all the time, do we?"

There was silence in the sickbay for a cycle or two, pregnant and uncomfortable. Breakdown stared awkwardly over his repaired chassis, examining the flawless paint- and metalwork. His partner could be a first-class medic if he put his processor to it; the only trouble was that the processor in question had been decidedly elsewhere for the last couple of cycles. The silence deepened, darkening every corner of the room like an ominous shadow.

"Hey… Knock Out? Can I ask you somethin'?"

"I suppose that depends on what it is you want to ask me."

Breakdown hesitated for a moment on receiving his slightly clipped response, but cast aside uncertainty as he looked the medic straight in the optic. "Why'd you team up with the Autobots?" he began carefully. Knock Out averted his gaze at once, but Breakdown refused to give up on pursuing the matter. "Why'd you turn to them for help, instead of Megatron?"

The smaller Decepticon shook his head, tensing visibly, but knew better than to lie. "Megatron doesn't care what happens to us," he uttered, crossing his servos. Breakdown raised an eyebrow, which only seemed to irritate him further. "Don't look at me like that – you know it's true. To him, we're just lackeys… expendable pawns that can be flung into danger and replaced if we're taken by the opponent."

Breakdown forced a hissing sound through his vocal processors, glancing from side to side like a 'bot possessed. "Quiet down, will ya?" he urged, stepping forward. "Soundwave might be listening!"

"I don't care," Knock Out shot, scowling. "Let him listen. I couldn't give a scraplet's ASCII what he thinks – or what _Lord_ Megatron thinks, for that matter. The chain of command around here could definitely use some work."

Frowning, Breakdown watched his partner fume. He let the medic seethe for a little while, waiting for him to regain some sort of grip on his composure, before gently pressing on. "What's gotten into you?" he asked.

Knock Out seemed to calm down some. He inclined his head to the side, eyebrows arched as though at a loss of understanding. "I'm just…confused," he replied with another subtle shrug. "The way the Autobots work is completely different to us. They're more than a team – they're like a _family_. After MECH… took you… they offered to help me get you back without asking anything in return. It was strange…"

Breakdown furrowed his brow, wondering if Knock Out had gone soft in his absence. Still… a part of him could sense that his partner was at a crossroads, of sorts, and that mocking him definitely wouldn't help the situation.

"They respect Prime like a father, but we respect Megatron like the tyrant that he is," the medic continued. "The Decepticons are an army, not a family. I think… maybe that's why – despite how blatantly we outnumber and out-power them – we can never achieve a substantial victory over them."

"What do you mean?" Breakdown asked, confused.

Knock Out thought for a second. "They know each other inside and out, chassis and spark," he said. "They can predict their teammates' every move, fighting as a single entity on the battlefield. We – independent, mistrustful soldiers that we are – fight on our own. In that sense, _we_ are the ones who are out-powered."

"So…you're sayin' the Decepticons should become like a family?"

"I'm saying that we should all start to trust and get to know each other more," corrected Knock Out. He flinched, and then quickly shook his head. "I know that sounds very… _Autobot_ of me, but… can you see my point?"

Breakdown rolled his optics, grinning nonetheless. "I think so," he said, forcing his expression back toward sincerity. "But, look. I trust you – and I know you enough to see that this is really gettin' on your last circuit. I'll always support anything you have to say, Knock Out, 'cause I owe you big-time. Whatever you do, I'll back you up."

Knock Out stared at him for a nanoklik, before the first faint trace of amusement crossed his faceplates. "Too right, you owe me," he sniffed loftily, turning on his heel and starting across the sickbay. He then gave a sigh, waving a hand as he headed toward the door. "Now… I suppose I'd better go and find _Commander_ Starscream. No doubt he'll want a full report on our whereabouts for the last few solarcycles."

Breakdown let a dark chortle escape his vocal processors, vaguely wondering how much red paint the Seeker would dirty his claws with this time, as he watched the doorway slide mechanically open on his partner's approach.

"Oh – and, Breakdown… welcome home."

The larger Decepticon folded his arms, taken slightly unawares, before cocking his head to one side. "You too," he smirked.

Knock Out paused in the threshold for a moment, gave a single nod of the head, and strutted out into the corridor.


End file.
